


Three Times Fast

by strikeyourcolors



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Carnival, Demons, Evil Tim, M/M, Praise Kink, Tail Sex, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12515464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: Jason laughs. It's a short, mocking laugh and he kind of regrets it. "I'm sorry," He says between snorts but he's not sorry at all. "A devil? Named Tim?" Seriously? That's some spooky shit and also it seems like a descriptor that said strange villain would use right before he launched them into a rooftop battle.A night at the carnival changes drastically when Jason discovers a young man on display in the museum of curiosities. Tim is definitely a curiosity, but is he there against his will? Or is he imprisoned there for the safety of everyone else? Leave it to Jason to get to the bottom of things.





	Three Times Fast

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting around for a while and I'm not very good at spooky, but hopefully it qualifies for the season. I apparently can't write Jason without him having a lot of feelings.
> 
> Everything is the same in this universe, save that "Tim Drake" never existed as we know him. There is something that could be construed as a bit of dubious consent, if you squint. Take a look at the tags if you have any hesitation; the smut doesn't start until almost halfway through. Happy Halloween a few days early!

Fucking carnivals. 

Jason might remember a time when carnivals were supposed to be fun. The small, traveling affairs that popped up in the city during the months with a more tolerable climate and were gone again within a week. He'd never had money for tickets but looking was free and sometimes there were even discarded tickets on the ground. Or change thrown free of the pockets of people on the rides or simply lifted from them in the chaos.

But that had been before Amusement Mile. Before circuses and carnivals had been attached to a particular villain. Before Jason Todd, age fifteen, had died with a clown's face in his mind.

Fucking clowns. 

But this particular carnival had deserved looking into. It had been unattached to any name. Dick hasn't even heard of it, and he's heard of every circus in the world, at least in Jason's mind. It's even more suspicious when Jason finds it pretty much deserted. As though everyone simply walked away an hour or two ago. He wanders, staying well away from any areas he thinks might contain white face paint or rubber noses. It's not a circus, not really. There's no big top, no trapeze artists or elephants. Even by Gotham-carnival standards it's a little shitty. He shouldn't really have expected much of a turn-out but the place is even void of workers. 

There are still signs, and Jason idly follows the one to the Museum of Curiosities. Freak Show doesn't really sound up his alley, he doesn't trust the rides, and he's had far too many bad experience trapped in mazes to like running through a mirrored one for fun. Dick would be positively eating this shit up. He'd be contorting with joy like a side show attraction and trying to talk shop with whoever would have him. 

Jason simply walks into the apparent museum. The exhibit is a simple tent, the doorway blocked off with a half-rolled flap he has to duck under. He expects a series of exhibits, for some reason, but instead he's thrown into what has to be the main one. There are little displays around the tent, but in the dead center, illuminated, is a young man in a box. 

The box is wooden, open on all four sides with only columns on the four corners connecting the ceiling and floor of it. The bulb in the hole in the ceiling is tinted red and buzzing. But that doesn't distract Jason; the man in the box does. 

He's slim, too slim. His bones stick out prominently and they're very easy to see since he's shirtless, too. A mop of black hair falls into his face and his eyes are blue. So blue that Jason can see them across the room. Red ropes twine around his arms, which are tied to the box in a crucifixion position. The same has been done to his legs, rope twisting like vines up to his thighs and keeping him bound to the floor. Jason almost, _almost_ doesn't see the bat wings. Then when he does, he wonders how he could have nearly missed them. They are black, he decides, with definite tones of red in them. Leathery and shiny, spread out to full span behind him. There are clips in the delicate membranes to keep them in place, as bound as the rest of him.

He also has a tail. The tail definitely is red, and looks like it may as well be entirely leather. There's a little bell on the end of it, with a cloth tab dangling off it. It reads **Do not pull.**

 _Manbats_ , is Jason's first and most irrational thought. Some leftover Manbat from one of their battles somehow ended up in the hands of an unscrupulous vendor and is being put on display. But, no. This is a man with bat wings and not a man transformed into a giant bat. 

With that in mind, this really shouldn't be as weird as he thinks it is. Jason is left staring. The man is bound. Half naked. Here against his will? But, then again, this is an exhibit for entertainment; no way they would put the genuinely unwilling in such a public venue. "Do you have anything to drink?" The man asks him with a pretty smile and a flutter of eyelashes that seem almost sinfully long. 

English. No accent. It increases Jason's opinion this is an actor. The guy acts casual. No screaming. No begging for help. Maybe it's an off night, if that's what he's supposed to be doing for a show. "You don't have anything free to drink with," Jason points out, but he's already digging in his backpack to find the lukewarm, half drunk bottle of water. "Those are some nice special effects. Or are they real?"

"I've got my mouth, don't I?" The man drawls in return. His tongue flicks out to wet his cracked lips. "That's all I need to drink." He seems to ignore the second question all together.

Jason approaches after unscrewing the lid to the bottle. There's an almost eager look on the man's face, one Jason isn't sure can be faked. He knows the look of hunger and desperation for the basic necessities of life. On closer inspection, the box has symbols carved into it. Smatterings of Arabic are the only things he recognizes, and most of them he's not familiar with. It's a pretty decoration, at least. "If you bite me or try any weird shit I will punch you in your fucking face. Ropes or no," Jason warns as he lifts the bottle to those pretty lips and tips it so the liquid slides into his mouth. "What are you supposed to be, anyway?"

Except, it appears, a neglected and desperate performer. Jason can't see any catches that would allow him a quick escape; it looks like he truly is tied here. Likewise, the look of malnutrition isn't a trick of make-up or lights. This guy, and Jason puts him at a few years younger than he himself is, actually, is really just that thin.

He's also swallowing greedily, gulping down the water like it's mana from heaven instead of mostly warm and probably stale tap water. "I used to have a plaque that explained what I was," He replies with a shrug and a little cough to clear his throat. He turns his head delicately to the side for the second one, and Jason can see lingering bruises on his throat. "I'm a devil. My name is Tim."

Jason laughs. It's a short, mocking laugh and he kind of regrets it. "I'm sorry," He says between snorts but he's not sorry at all. "A devil? Named Tim?" Seriously? That's some spooky shit and also it seems like a descriptor that said strange villain would use right before he launched them into a rooftop battle. 

"It means 'honored by God'," The man, Tim, shoots back. His lips curl in a little snarl at that and Jason thinks he's probably pissed him off. 

"Well, Tim," Jason responds. "Who are you all dressed up for? I'm the only patron of this place and here you are, trussed up like a Christmas goose. That can't be comfortable and you're not even arguing with it." 

"It's short for Timothy," Tim says and at first Jason thinks he's ignoring the question. But then he rises to the balls of his feet to give himself enough slack in the rope to roll his shoulders in a shrug. "And I know nothing you have could get me out of here and nothing I can do will get me out of here, so getting upset over it is just a waste of energy."

Jason surveys the ropes again. They look tied off well, but they don't seem like anything too special. When he circles behind him it looks like the wings really are grafted onto his back but he's seen people with weirder mutations done for more petty reasons than this, right? But there's no one else in this place. Just him and some tied up bat-guy. What game is being played? Is he supposed to free him for the show? "Really?" He asks, eyebrow lifting in skepticism. "You don't want out? Those ropes must be chafing. The strain on your shoulders has to be bad. And don't you have an itch right at the tip of your nose that you just can't reach?"

"Of course I want out. This crap isn't comfortable," he responds with a roll of his eyes. His voice sounds like the chirping of a bird, soft instead of annoying. For now. As if to demonstrate the truth in his words, Jason sees his muscles strain. They tremble, the wings (which are apparently very real) especially as he flexes. The leather creaks and the box shudders but, ultimately, everything holds fast. Tim is well and truly stuck.

"Then why didn't you ask me to let you free?" Jason asks. Booby-trapped is the paranoid answer. The more realistic one is that it would ruin the show. Jason has to keep reminding himself, somehow, that that's what this is. This might be someone with a mutation. It might be an actual devil, even, but only idiots showcase their kidnapping victims like this. Still, he draws his kris from his waist. It had been a great gift for getting his head back together; it slices through kevlar and grappling lines like they are butter. 

There's an expression on Tim's face that is something like hope. Maybe it's less hopeful, and more eager, but it's still something. "If you know how to use that thing then go ahead," Tim agrees.

"I know how to use this thing," Jason grumbles, then hesitates."The place isn't going to erupt into flames if I cut you loose, is it? You won't morph into your final man-bat form? A sword won't shoot out of the wall?" _Think._ Bruce would say. _Observe._ But he doesn't listen to Bruce himself and certainly not the phantom of Bruce that lingers in the corners of his mind. He selects a leg, because Tim will probably have more trouble hurting him with a leg than an arm if this does happen to be a trap, and starts to saw through the rope. 

Except the rope doesn't cut. It bends, and he can manipulate it somewhat, but it won't break. It won't even fray. "No," Tim murmurs. "None of those things will happen." 

And then he's burning. Jason smells singed flesh and jumps back, only to realize that his leather jacket is smoking. Real leather, butter soft, and he regrets the damage to it almost as much as he would regret damage to his real skin. Some of the characters from the wood of the box have moved onto his jacket, branded into it. He swears a litany of words because Jesusfuckdamnfuckingsonofabitch he liked that jacket. He surveys the damage but when his gaze is back on Tim it is all kinds of critical. 

The kris hasn't left his hand. "You could have warned me, asshole." But this presents a new challenge. It's more proof that, just maybe, this isn't all some hoax to drum up business. After all, Jason hasn't been asked for any money to see more. "Who put you here and what are these ropes made of?" There's a solution for every problem. Has to be. You just have to think your way out without doing anything too impulsive, and that's going to be the trick here for Jason.

"I couldn't have warned you before," Tim responds easily. "And I can't tell you." He pauses and sticks out his tongue. It's maybe a little more pointed than a normal human tongue, but mostly Jason is focused on the fact that the organ is tattooed. He doesn't recognize the symbol. 

"You can answer questions," Jason guesses. "But you can't volunteer information?"

"Yes and yes. Something like that." Tim takes a deep breath, and Jason watches his chest swell with the air before he releases it. "I always answer and I'll always tell the truth." His eyes flick back to Jason and Jason realizes that he can't continue. 

"Do bad things happen if you're freed?" He figures keeping to basic questions is going to be his best bet. He'll overlook something if they're more specific and he doesn't think there's any limit to what he can ask. 

"Yes. I can't tell you how to do it, even if you ask me." Tim pouts. It's possibly one of the cutest things Jason has seen. Like a basket of puppies you know are demonic and want to cuddle anyway. It's kind of a strange urge. Especially when the pout on Tim's face shifts into a cheeky grin. "The clips might be more agreeable to your hands, though." 

Jason has, until that moment, not considered calling in reinforcements. But he doesn't have a Pope blessed dagger or a magic wand or anything to help him free Tim...and he does very much want to free him, somehow. He pauses to pull his cell phone out and glances at the screen. No service. Figures. But the clips, sure enough, come off the wings with only a gentle pinch from Jason's fingers. There are little divots in the wings where the teeth of them bit in, and little tears where Tim's been pulling. The wires the clips are attached to swing free and, just like that, Tim's wings are loose. 

They flare out and flap uselessly and the groan that comes out of Tim's mouth does uncomfortable things to certain parts of Jason's anatomy. Tim tips his head back and moans, his tail curling and uncurling in pure happiness at the ability to move. "Aaaah. That feels so good," Tim purrs. Then Jason realizes that the tail has wrapped around his thigh, barely able to be felt through the thick pants he's wearing. 

He definitely shrieks internally. Fortunately he's been better trained than to let that emerge as more than a stiff jerk. But Tim isn't trying to move him with the tail or pull his leg out from under him. He's only...holding? Holding and announcing how great it feels. 

"If you could..." Jason begins, awkwardly. "Your tail. Removing it. Or holding it still while I check out the damage." His wings look heavy. There's no blood, but how much blood flow could there be in the thin tissue between wing structures? How are they connected inside Tim that he can move them?

Tim gives him a breathless little laugh. "Sure. Don't stop now."

"I can't cut through the ropes," Jason reminds him. "Or burn through them?" Tim gives a shake of his head to the negative. Jason is fishing his phone out of his pocket once again. Who is he going to call? _Hey I have some devil guy imprisoned in a haunted circus and the ropes on him are cursed or something._ Yeah that wouldn't sound like a trap at all. Maybe Roy. Roy might have some kind of idea how to manage this. 

Except he forgot about his phone not having any reception. At all. The battery is dying too. That's just weird. Alright, so he's on his own. He can work with that. He's as talented as the Golden Boy, as smart as the Blood Son. Yeah, right.

He examines the ropes again. The words on them. The words burned into his jacket that he's not thinking about because goddammit he liked that jacket. "What if I say these?" Providing he can even read them. "What if you tell me how to say them?"

The look Tim gives him is resigned. Still pretty, and even bruised up and starved really this devil is too attractive. "The wings are enough," Tim whispers. He clears his throat again, so Jason pauses to give him more water. He swears Tim almost nuzzles his hand for that. "You've done more than enough. I can't tell you the words."

If he means the words to thank him for his help or the words on the wood, Jason's not sure. This is some occult shit. Not something he's qualified for, when he tries to stay as far as possible away from mystical cases because after coming back from the dead the last thing he wants is to get involved in otherworldly happenings. Still, he can't leave him here. Jason doesn't like to think of himself as a hero but leaving a captive bound up in a box just takes a decent human being to refuse. "Afraid these words aren't on my list of languages." French. Spanish. Chinese. Even Portuguese. Languages have always come easily to Jason, even if nothing else has. He takes a stab at the words, sounding them out.

"Ow!" Tim yells, startling him. "Ow! That hurts!" And his voice dies in Jason's throat. Tim bites his lower lip and his tail, his _tail_ is twitching against Jason's leg. "You're overthinking it," Tim hisses, like the words leave a bad taste in his mouth to say. "What do they do in movies? What do they say and how many times?"

Jason's not the smart one or the pretty one. He's not even the surly smart-mouthed blood son. It's not that he's stupid it's just that he prefers kicking his problems in the face or shooting holes in them. "What if you shouldn't be released?" He questions. "You seem like you need help but that's what devils do, isn't it? Trick you?" He hasn't been particularly religious in his life, despite a brief calling to the priesthood. Sometimes he's not so sure it wasn't a call to a life of stability and being left alone. "Quit poking me with your tail, or I'll pull it." It is absolutely distracting. 

"Don't pull it," Tim demands. It doesn't stop moving so Jason grabs it. The tip isn't sharp or threatening. It's surprisingly soft on the outside, strong beneath that, and he strokes down the length of it curiously. A shudder rolls through Tim's body and he quivers, teeth momentarily digging into his lip again before he blinks at Jason. "Just _think_ or get out." 

Jason knows about pushing people away. Even people trying to help him. He knows what Tim is trying to do and it doesn't seem like something a completely evil person would do. "Your name," Jason realizes. Tim's tail moves from his thigh to his wrist and Jason finds himself patting it, like it's some kind of animal. He wants to try. But suddenly words feel like glue in his mouth. His tongue burns. 

"It's okay to give up," Tim tells him. "You're not the first person who has tried to free me and you won't be the last. It's okay to leave it to someone else."

"Timothy," Jason says, because he's no quitter. There's not going to have to be anyone else, because it will be him. There's a flash of heat between them. Tim gasps, moans and rolls his hips and a quick glance down tells Jason Tim is very, very hard. When did that happen? When did he start enjoying this too? He only needs to say it twice more. Six syllables. It's painful, sand and ashes on his teeth, throat itching with his restrained voice. "Timothy." It comes out a croak. 

Tim moans. He's writhing against the ropes like every wet dream come to life. Jason's skin tingles, burns. The words that have eaten holes in the fabric of his jacket have moved to his shirt, his pants. Dissolving them like acid and yet the burning is almost pleasant. It seems into his skin without a mark, steals his breath. Makes it feel...

 _Sinful_. Would be the best descriptor. Jason would laugh at that if he had air. Instead he's looking at Tim, gasping for breath like a drowning man. Drowning in the blue pool of Tim's eyes, even if the color is rapidly disappearing as Tim's pupils expand. Jason tries to draw back, thinking it he pulls at Tim's tail it might be like a cord, and he might get more slack.

He remembers the warning a moment later. Whip thin and small as Tim may be, his tail is lightning fast and _strong_. It wraps around Jason's waist like a snake and jerks him forward hard enough for him to lose his balance. Their bodies crash into one another and the tail locks them into place. Face-to-face, hip-to-hip. Tim looks...pleased. Like a cat that unexpectedly caught a canary. Then, Tim kisses him. 

His mouth is warm, bordering on too hot. The startled noise Jason had been about to let out just allows more access for a tongue. He's not sure what to think, brain rapid firing too much for actual sentences. Hot and smoke and flame. Should be burning. Just too warm. Too warm all over. Tightening in his belly, in his groin, no way that's not noticeable, feeling of Tim pressed completely against him. He has to pry himself loose, convinced all at once that he's dying and that if it's this way he kind of really wants it. 

Tim chases after him, nibbling his lower lip and then licking the sting away. The tail remains around his waist, steady and stilling as an iron fetter. "Are you sure you want to free me?" Tim questions, voice playful and taunting all at once. The end of his tail has found a hole in the fabric of Jason's pants and is delving in, stroking the skin beneath. 

There's no way he can be expected to think under these types of circumstances. This is the part where the floor drops out, Jason thinks. This is where he sees a camera and the light flares and some really invested worshiper jerks one out behind a screen and offers Jason money to stay.

No. This is where the room disappears. When Tim drags him down to Hell where he's always belonged. Rips his flesh from his bones under a giant sign of 83. 83 confirmed kills.

Simpler still. This is when he wakes up. Frotting against the covers and a little disturbed but no worse for the wear. Except Jason has never dreamed of demons outside the Lazarus Pit and the houses that haunt him are stone not wood. Tim isn't releasing him. Jason's brain has recovered a fraction too slow. He leans forward. Bites a plush lower lip and goes for his neck or shoulder. Fingers dig in. Teeth scrape oddly hot flesh. 

The tail startles him as it strokes more of his skin, over the cheek of his ass and to the crease. He jerks forward against the bound form and a shudder runs through him. "This is so fucked up. So fucking...fucked up."But what is he going to do about it? Jason bucks and writhes. Almost growls. He struggles but it's not to get away. He lifts his hands again and drags them down Tim's sides with the blunt edge of nails. Then his fingers are tracing the different textures of his skin. Down his arms, up his legs.

"We have to get you out of here." He steals another kiss. If anyone asked what his motivations were, what they are, he can't say he'd give a reasonable answer. He's a man possessed. The irony isn't lost on him, at least. 

Tim's lips are rough against his own. "Tell me why," He whispers. "You're not sticking around out of the goodness of your heart, Jason." His tail holds fast around him, even as the tip worms past the waistband of Jason's shorts. He arches and purrs, rocks against him in a way that sends sparks dancing through Jason's vision. "You already know bad things are going to happen." 

Not that they could, but that they will. Tim licks a stripe down Jason's neck, hungry, and his tail slides between Jason's cheeks. It strokes across the hole there. Jason startles. "Hey," He protests. "Just because I want you free doesn't mean I want your tail up my ass." But even that brief touch, that had felt far too good. Still, Tim tips his head at him. Waiting for an answer. Jason's words are spilling out far more easily now that he's not trying to say his name. 

"Because no one deserves to be trapped." Caged like this. He thinks of Arkham, revolving door that it is. But then he thinks of the threats to put him there. To keep him caged but alive until he sees the light of Bruce's reason. To not even give him control of dying a second time and something about that terrifies him on a primal, basic level.

It isn't that he wants to die. It's just he wants the ability to decide for himself instead of languishing in restraints."If bad things happen," Jason adds as he tests the hold, tries to get free because all this thinking about being bound has him squirmy. "Then I kill you. Banish you. Find someone to do those things if you go after innocent people."

The gangs, the drug lords, the traffickers; Jason doesn't care what he does to those people. His lips are sore. His mouth tastes like blood and he can't get free. It's adding an element of danger, making Jason's heart speed up. "Just a word of warning," Tim says, those innocent baby blues gazing at him. "If I get free, and I mean truly free? Better run. I'm harder to kill than I look." 

He's distracted. He's overheated. He's hard and that's embarrassing to be around someone you might have to fight to the death sometime soon. "It feels like the kind of thing a bad guy would do. Leaving you here." It seems like the kind of thing a good guy would do, putting him here in the first place. Well, never let it be said Jason Todd wasn't going to look at both sides of the coin in this. Both sides of the tailed, slowly blackening demon. He still hasn't pulled away and that still says some really fucked up things about him that he'd rather not investigate too closely right now.

"You're puzzling," Tim tells him with an almost chaste, affectionate kiss to his forehead. "You tell me these things. About not being a bad guy. About not wanting me to kill the innocent. And here you are, rubbing yourself against my thigh. Give me something I want, Jason, and I'll give you something you want."

Jason knows he's not thinking clearly. Knows the blood in his brain is firmly in his dick because he's humping someone he just met, who may or may not be demonic, who was just trying to finger him with his tail. "What do you want?" 

"Suck me off," Tim orders. His eyes glimmer. Jason finds his mouth watering and he knows. He knows he's under some kind of control, but he's finding he doesn't care. "And make some noise doing it, if you would?"

Nothing has sounded better to Jason in a long, long time. His fingers catch in the black cloth around those frail, starved hips and he peels it back. Wonders when the last time Tim ate was. Wonders what he eats, before he can recall that gnawing pain of hunger in his own belly. 

"Make some noise," Jason repeats and the mirth is pretty damn obvious in his voice even as he tries to purse his lips and at least not look like he's laughing. It's an odd turn of phrase. Surprisingly the only one; everything else the devil wants is so mundane that Jason might as well be on the bare apartment floor somewhere in Crime Alley listening through paper thin walls to the girl next door plying her trade. 

Tim's cock isn't huge, but it isn't small either. There's nothing all that abnormal about it. Jason eyes him with a kind of critical skepticism like his dick might burst into flames at any moment. He wouldn't be surprised. But nothing out of the ordinary happens, really, except Jason is way too turned on by demon cock. His fingers wrap around the base, steady him, for Jason to give a few licks to the tip. Not hesitant, not kittenish, but full swipes.

Tim's reactions, much like his sex, are human. There's a soft intake of breath, then a sharper one followed by a very appreciative groan. He rolls his shoulders, and Jason can see his toes curl. "Yeah," He breathes. "That feels good." Just a few licks, and he's being praised. Jason almost glows with it. "Suck the tip, too." 

He takes his time obeying. Laps around him to get used to the feel and weight and taste. Then he moves his tongue against the slit like he's trying to push it inside, sucks the head of him into his mouth to provide a little more stimulation. His knees hurt already and he shifts to find a kind of balance on the little ledge of the wooden structure surrounding Tim, something that won't cut off circulation.

But it pitches him forward. Makes him take more of Tim into his mouth than he'd anticipated, than he'd really wanted to. A sound that might have been a yelp is cut to a moan and a gurgle as the devil's cock slides into his mouth, nearly bumping his throat. At least he still has a hand on him so he can control both how much goes in and how far he falls forward but it still leaves him struggling. His eyes are wet and his throat swallows compulsively as he tries to regain that smooth edge.

"It's alright if you're having trouble," Tim croons. "I don't judge." But what he does instead is move his tail. Over Jason's nipples, flicking one and then the other. Jason shudders, groans, and his motions become a little more fluid as he feels sparks of something like pleasure shoot through him. "Feels great," Tim praises. "Keep working hard for me." And Jason bobs his head, drags his tongue along the thick underside of it, swirls it around the tip and uses his palm to stroke what's not in his mouth. 

Tim gives a low sound in the back of his throat, head moving to the side. He's the prettiest thing Jason's seen in maybe forever. Such a pretty innocent face, lost in pleasure, while he all but fucks Jason's throat. "When I...don't swallow," Tim whispers and Jason is pretty sure he misheard because don't most guys want exactly that. But Tim's eyes lock with his. "Don't swallow." 

He's focusing on not tasting. On not thinking. Which might prove a little dangerous if Tim is offering that warning. Jason is still careful. Of the skin, of pulling it back only so far, of jerking Tim off a tad bit more carefully than he would some random guy with whom he was sharing a mutual need. That tail is distracting and _motherfuck_ it's a tail and he should probably not let it play with his nipple or make him feel good. 

He's back to swallowing him down after a few more seconds and a pop of his jaw. Going bar enough his nose nearly bumps into his groin. Fingers cup his balls, squeeze lightly, wait for that tell-tale beginning of them drawing up. Tim is swinging his hips as much as the restraints allow him, sliding in and out of the velvet heat of Jason's mouth and against his tongue. The noises he's making, they are all Jason's doing, and Jason has never felt prouder. It's not long before his wings flare and Jason can feel it. 

It's hot. Hotter than normal. Jason has it firmly lodged in his mind what he should do and so he's spitting before Tim is even really done coming in his mouth. There's a stab of fear in him that the come might actually do some damage, and it helps him rake the liquid from his tongue and all but drool on the floor. 

It tastes...pleasant. Like nothing, and still like the best taste in the world. Something indescribable, his favorite taste and nothing he's had before. He's licking the head of Tim's cock for more before he realizes it, promising himself he'll stop after that taste, and that he'll spit that out too. 

"It's kind of addictive," Tim notes fondly. He's breathing hard. "Also a pretty potent aphrodisiac." And Jason doesn't care. He wants to laugh. As it is, he makes some kind of noise of amusement but it's not as biting as he normally likes. It's punctuated by an almost embarrassing smack of his lips as he tries to taste more. The last bit of come did go down his throat and now he's intent to wring every bit of the taste out before it fades, flushed out by his own saliva. 

He shouldn't be humming with pleasure at a job well done. "Can't say I've had someone tell me I do good work giving head." Blowing shit up, terrorizing the Batman, that sort of thing. But Jason hasn't had work like that. He wonders if some of his girls get complimented like that. The thought shouldn't turn him on like it does. 

"Now," Tim coos to him. "Tell me what _you_ want. Then say my name one more time and it's all yours." 

What does Jason want? He'd like a lot of things. A childhood deprived has taught him not to really wish for any luxury items. A roof over his head in whatever state of disrepair and food that isn't expired and he's relatively golden. Everything else is an afterthought. 

But Tim isn't a genie giving wishes out. Limited wishes and for a split second he thinks about wishing Bruce dead. But that won't work, and deep down Jason knows it wouldn't make him feel any better. He thinks about asking for Bruce to suffer, too, but he won't send another Robin to an early grave even accidentally. The Joker...well that had certain potential. "I want someone dead," He says. "But I want to kill him." 

That makes him even harder and makes the situation even more fucked up. The more he feels the demon's eyes on him, the more he thinks maybe he doesn't want violence and wants a certain part of Tim instead. He thinks about the weight of Tim's cock on his tongue and his mouth waters and his dick throbs and his ass feels like he desperately wants to be fucked. 

He's eyeing the bonds once again, this time trying to decide if the angle is right. Not really. "Fuck," He whispers, sidling up to him, trying to find some way to get to the right height. "Fuck I want to fuck you. You to fuck me." Anything. Everything.

Tim, the little demonic fucker, looks victorious. "You accept the terms, then? Me for you?" 

The words sound a bit strange. Me for you. Easy. Tim says it easily. "Fuck, I...yes. Yes. I accept." Even though he now certainly feels like the words are more than the sum of their syllables. He chases after Tim for another kiss, fingers lifting into that dark hair (like Dick's. Not like Dick's) like he can pull the demon any closer to him.

The ropes snap. Jason hears them and his eyes go wide as they simply drop away from Tim's limbs. Tim nudges him backward and steps out of his makeshift case. That can't be good. Not after all their talk about what keeps this demon bound and what it might take to free him and he's starting to believe he's made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

The arms on him and the press of flesh against him, on his groin, beg to differ, however. Jason's never considered himself particularly sex driven but right now he wants this, wants him more than anything else in his life. Even knowing this is bad and serious shit is about to go down, he doesn't think he can run. He's captivated, under this spell, and he's happy to be there. The kiss tastes strange. Like Hell. Like the explosion that killed him once upon a time. Like the way he'd died. 

He chases those thoughts away, tugging Tim close to him, running his hands down his spine to cup his ass and give it a squeeze. There are stranger things to worry about much later, he convinces himself. Right now, nothing has ever seemed more important than touching and being touched.  

Jason loses track of time. In a blink, Tim is lowering him to the floor like he weighs nothing. In another, the remnants of his tattered clothes are whisked away. A kiss and there's a touch of sharp teeth. Another and his hands, too hot to be human, are running down his body. When he straddles him, sitting up to smile down at him, it's fairly obvious that Jason has gotten himself into some big trouble. "Thanks. I owe you one." 

"I hope," Jason says and swallows. "You're not intending for me to take your place. Because that's not going to work." And he tries to say it with confidence like he's not panting or naked or hard or anything else.

"No way," Tim replies. His hand loosely wraps around Jason's dick, giving it a smooth and confident stroke. Tim's certainly not shy about taking what he wants. He sucks hard at one pink nipple, squeezes at the base of his cock until Jason whines. His fingers massage that soft spot between his shaft and balls until he writhes. "I'm going to fuck myself on your dick for a while," Tim says with no preamble and no shame. "Then I'm going to fuck you." And if Jason's cock hadn't been hard before, it's now throbbing and painful. His fingers dig into the meat of Tim's ass and he spreads him out of instinct.

Tim's tail flicks outward and he puts just the tip of it in his mouth. There's a little shiver from him and it's moving behind him. Not behind, Jason decides, inside. He can feel Tim's tail going into his asshole. "Should've made you buy me dinner first," Jason slurs but he's lost to it and Tim probably knows it. Teal eyes are focused on the demon, on the tail slipping between the demon's cheeks. Jason's large hand squeezes flesh a little more firmly and he bucks up, grinds against him. 

He somehow wants to join in, wants to lick the tail, wants to suck on it until it's nice and wet and then-no those can't be his actual thoughts can they? Jason's fingers run down the bumps of Tim's spine to the base of his tail to stroke it between his fingers. Soft and hot. Mobile as much as the rest of him. He can touch the parts that aren't inside Tim, can feel every motion of it. 

Tim makes another trilling, pleased noise at the sensation of his hands. "Don't stop," He begs, as the tail withdraws from inside him. "Keep touching it." Jason can only obey, can only keep stroking the velvet texture as Tim places both hands on his chest and lifts himself higher. It's all a smooth motion from there. Down over Jason's hips, down over his dick, down as Jason's cock slides right into a slick, welcoming, almost too hot body. "Ah!" Tim leans back and grinds against Jason, just to make sure he's all the way to the hilt. "Finally." 

Jason's never felt anything better in his life. His fingers fasten around Tim's hips and he trembles, already close to blowing his load. Embarrassingly close, really. He moans, wants to moan out the name of the man above him but, at the last moment, he remembers. Three times. Saying his name three times is bad. "Fuck," He whispers. "Oh my God I'm gonna come." 

There's a flinch at the word, but Tim smoothly rolls his hips against him. He rides him easily, uses him like he's nothing but an object and it's somehow incredible. Tim stretches his arms above his head, using his wings to balance. "This is great," He tells Jason. "It's been so long and you feel so great inside me. Filling me up. You're just big everywhere, aren't you?"

There are sparks in his vision. Jason arches up, feeling heat racing through his belly and settling in his groin. But he can't get off. It builds and builds and holds there, an ache in his gut without a release. He digs his fingers into Tim's sides, urges him on harder and faster like that's going to help anything. "Are you struggling?" Tim asks breathlessly and grins. "Poor thing. You'll get yours. I promise. I'm just going to take mine first." 

And take he does. The slick, impossible slide of his body over Jason's dick has him moaning again. He fucks into hi, touches everywhere he can. He strokes Tim's tail, relishes the shudders and moans and tightening of that channel around him. Pleasure builds and builds and he feels stretched too tight, unable to contain it. And still no release. No orgasm. 

"Say it," Tim whispers. His cock is bobbing along with his motions and he spares it only a few strokes. "Call out my name, Jason, and you can come. Don't you want to?"

Fuck, he wants to. He wants it more than anything. Before when Tim was granting him favors he would have never thought that getting off would be the best one he could ever give him. "Please," Jason pleads, pride in tatters. Tim smirks and rakes nails down his chest and Jason spasms, so, so _close_ that he wants to sob. "Please let me." 

Tim is showing his true nature in that smirk. In the toss of his hair and the almost glow to his skin. "One word." He pauses, bites into his lip and _whimpers_. "Better hurry." 

"Timothy," Jason moans. "Timothy Timothy Timothy Timothy!" 

The devil on top of him laughs. The next time he slams down, Jason comes. He swears he's coming the equivalent of every time he ever has before combined. Emptying his balls into Tim, pleasure soaring through him, twisting his insides to an almost painful degree but it's so. Fucking. Good. He can feel Tim tightening even further, and there's the wet spill of near scalding seed over his belly. The feel of a tail wrapping around his wrist, pinning him down. Jason doesn't care. He doesn't care about any of it except the pleasure he's just been gifted by a newly freed demon. 

Maybe, he should be a little more concerned about that. As it is, he stares at Tim, slack-jawed and panting. Tim doesn't look much better, flushed and sweating and suddenly far more human than Jason thinks he's seen him. He wonders how that's possible. He looks healthier. More filled out, and his skin has become an almost human shade. "Thank you," Tim says like he hasn't just given him the best fuck of his life. He leans forward and nuzzles Jason, teeth scraping along his throat and Jason can feel himself stiffening again somehow, still inside Tim's body. 

He's pretty sure the groan he makes is a little agonized. "None of that," Tim scolds him, lips trailing over his jaw to his lips. Tim's pretty face hovers in his vision, and Jason swears he can see the flames in the coolness of his eyes. "We made a bargain, Jason Todd." 

He never told him his name. He never told him his fucking name and he's been using it all this time. 

Jason wants to scream. It dissolves into a moan as Tim settles back onto him, and soon even that is silenced with a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> Confession. I don't actually like bad ends. If this story continued, Jason would probably be using Tim like an attack demon to eat bad people in exchange for his soul or something. They also have the best Halloween parties together.
> 
> Prompt? Suggestion? Bored? Tumblr is [here!](http://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com)


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